thirty-five shillings in your pocket, which is a box of Havanas or a fancy waistcoat.  Is not this exciting?  And there are seven thousand houses in Bursley.  Mrs Codleyn hoped that her rateable value would be reduced.  She based the hope chiefly on the fact that she was a client of Mr Duncalf, the Town Clerk.  The Town Clerk was not the Borough Surveyor and had nothing to do with the revaluation.  Moreover, Mrs Codleyn persumably [Transcriber’s note:  sic] entrusted him with her affairs because she considered him an honest man, and an honest man could not honestly have sought to tickle the Borough Surveyor out of the narrow path of rectitude in order to oblige a client.  Nevertheless, Mrs Codleyn thought that because she patronised the Town Clerk her rates ought to be reduced!  Such is human nature in the provinces!  So different from human nature in London, where nobody ever dreams of offering even a match to a municipal official, lest the act might be construed into an insult.

It was on a Saturday morning that Mrs Codleyn called to impart to Mr Duncalf the dissatisfaction with which she had learned the news (printed on a bit of bluish paper) that her rateable value, far from being reduced, had been slightly augmented.

The interview, as judged by the clerks through a lath-and-plaster wall and by means of a speaking tube, atoned by its vivacity for its lack of ceremony.  When the stairs had finished creaking under the descent of Mrs Codleyn’s righteous fury, Mr Duncalf whistled sharply twice.  Two whistles meant Denry.  Denry picked up his shorthand note-book and obeyed the summons.

“Take this down!” said his master, rudely and angrily.

Just as though Denry had abetted Mrs Codleyn!  Just as though Denry was not a personage of high importance in the town, the friend of countesses, and a shorthand clerk only on the surface.

“Do you hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“MADAM”—­hitherto it had always been “Dear Madam,” or “Dear Mrs Codleyn”—­“MADAM,—­Of course I need hardly say that if, after our interview this morning, and your extraordinary remarks, you wish to place your interests in other hands, I shall be most happy to hand over all the papers, on payment of my costs.  Yours truly ...  To Mrs Codleyn.”

Denry reflected:  “Ass!  Why doesn’t he let her cool down?” Also:  “He’s got ‘hands’ and ‘hand’ in the same sentence.  Very ugly.  Shows what a temper he’s in!” Shorthand clerks are always like that—­hypercritical.  Also:  “Well, I jolly well hope she does chuck him!  Then I shan’t have those rents to collect.”  Every Monday, and often on Tuesday, too, Denry collected the rents of Mrs Codleyn’s cottages—­an odious task for Denry.  Mr Duncalf, though not affected by its odiousness, deducted 7-1/2 per cent. for the job from the rents.

“That’ll do,” said Mr Duncalf.

But as Denry was leaving the room Mr Duncalf called with formidable brusqueness—­